


Private Place

by bladespark



Series: Bladespark's Genderfeel Stories [9]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale Has a Vulva (Good Omens), Body Worship, Cunnilingus, Gender Identity, Genderqueer, Insecurity, M/M, Oral Sex, Other, Porn With Plot, Transgender, cuddles after
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-31
Updated: 2019-07-31
Packaged: 2020-07-28 06:49:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20059798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bladespark/pseuds/bladespark
Summary: Aziraphale is not human, and this means he isn't a man.  Nor is he a woman.  But he wants to find a way to feel comfortable, a way to feel like himself while here on this Earth he so loves, living among humans.  So when he discovers the idea of people who are third gender, and the idea that bodies don't have to be only male, only female, something about that feels like coming home.And it just so happens that Crowley really likes wearing a cock when he makes an effort, so Aziraphale choosing a pussy makes the pair of them fit together as if they were made for each other.





	Private Place

**Author's Note:**

> A note: Egypt around 1800BC did indeed have a third gender called "skehet" but what exactly it entailed is not fully known, and I'm no historian anyway. It's often been translated as "eunuch" but a lot of queer concepts from the past have been, and that doesn't mean that's what it means. Of course it's unlikely it meant anything like the modern queer-ish catch-all I've used it as here, but it's what I wanted for the story, so it's what you're getting.

Crowley was thoroughly distracting Aziraphale from an admittedly sub-par chocolate torte.

The angel hadn’t come to this particular establishment for the food, but Aziraphale hadn’t been able to resist getting a little something anyway. The drinks were good, at least, and getting pleasantly drunk with Crowley had definitely been on Aziraphale’s agenda for the evening.

Physical affection seemed to be on Crowley’s agenda, for he was nibbling Aziraphale’s ear, pressed up against the angel’s side in the narrow booth.

Then Crowley’s hand landed on Aziraphale’s knee, squeezing, and began a slow migration upwards, and Aziraphale was suddenly caught on the horns of a dilemma that had been brewing for quite some time.

****

It had begun not long after The Beginning, in fact, when Aziraphale had been wandering among the still-not-populous humans, learning what they could about mortal life. They were reluctant to return to heaven, and nobody had said they _had_ to, so here they were, seeing how these odd fleshy creatures got up to things.

They’d been there for several centuries before they found out they’d rather been doing it wrong.

It was a child who told them. Adults, it turned out, had probably noticed, but had been too polite to ask the question. But children say what they think, and one day a little tyke walked right up to Aziraphale and said, “So are you a boy or a girl?”

“Ah… Er…” The angel wasn’t going to reply with the truth, since admitting to being an angel would cause quite a lot of commotion. But claiming to be either a boy or a girl would be a lie, and lies were wicked and sinful and they definitely shouldn’t.

“Because everybody’s a boy or a girl,” continued the child. Looking around at the humans in the little village—who had invented clothing but didn’t really _mean_ it yet, so a certain amount of flesh was on display—Aziraphale noted that yes, indeed, every last one of them over the age of puberty showed secondary sex characteristics. They’d always known that, of course. It was rather hard to miss sometimes, especially as the concept of privacy hadn’t really been invented yet either. And yet the significance of that fact, socially speaking, hadn’t sunk in until just now.

The little one looking up at the angel was seemingly sexless, even wearing only a loincloth, so Aziraphale asked, hoping this would provide them with a suitable answer of their own, “Which are you, dear child?”

“I’m a girl!” the child proclaimed, and seemed to be quite proud of this fact.

“Oh. I see.”

“So, which are you?”

“Oh dear. Well… I…”

“You have to be one or the other, everybody is,” said the child.

Aziraphale wrung their hands and dithered and finally said, “I’m a girl too, child.” They said this because it was no longer entirely a lie, because even as they said it they shifted certain things about the corporeal form they were wearing, pushing it just a tiny bit from androgynous to feminine. She was wearing a concealing robe, so she didn’t go for the full package, but a slightly different jawline, a faint change to cheekbones, just a little bit more width at the hips proper—though she was already rather plushly figured anyway, for she’d discovered food very nearly immediately, and while gourmet cooking was some time in the future, simple campfire dishes could be downright splendid—and the faintest swell at the chest were all sufficient for her to claim the word “girl” without feeling like a complete liar.

“Huh.” The child looked into her face curiously, then nodded. “I guess you are.” Then the little thing scurried off, leaving Aziraphale feeling faintly annoyed at the whole business, but also glad to have fixed the obvious error she’d been sporting while trying to fit in among humans.

Unfortunately femininity turned out to be distinctly uncomfortable for Aziraphale.

It wasn’t exactly the body, though that was definitely not quite right. It was more the way she was expected to fit into the world. Before, she’d been treated a little strangely, a little distantly, and had often wondered if humans somehow sensed that she was an angel. But it was only that the humans hadn’t known how to slot her into their worldview, and now that they did, _they did_.

Perhaps she might have found being female a bit more comfortable if she’d been in a society that wasn’t a patriarchy, but the Children of Adam were very sold on that whole business, and Aziraphale couldn’t really get used to being talked down to. Not to mention the propositions she sometimes got! She was a woman about in the world without a man to watch over her, and in this particular culture that simply wasn’t done unless you were a certain kind of woman, which Aziraphale most definitely was not. She still hadn’t tried on a pussy when she gave up on the whole business and had a go at being male.

By this time civilization was starting to get off the ground a bit, and Mesopotamia was booming with growing villages, some of which were becoming downright city-like. It was true that this burgeoning society was easier to fit into as a man. Aziraphale was no longer expected to have a keeper, and no longer talked down nearly so often, though some men did seem to spread that one around regardless of gender. Yet something about being male still wasn’t _right_. Aziraphale didn’t exactly miss his feminine body, but there was something about femininity itself that he was sad to give up, even if, in many other ways, masculinity felt much more comfortable.

He still didn’t bother with genitalia, but the rest of it suited him well enough, and so he chalked the lingering discomfort with his masculine self up to the fact that he was really an angel, a sexless being by nature, and went about his business.

It took nearly two thousand years for him to find out that there were other options.

He’d been in Egypt, and had been having a lovely time reading papyruses—marvelous invention those, much nicer than clay tablets—when he ran across a word he didn’t know. He’d learned Egyptian, of course, but his knowledge wasn’t perfect, so he had to go ask the librarian, embarrassingly, to translate it for him.

“Ah, ‘sekhet’,” the man had said, nodding. “Not a common thing in many lands.”

“What does it mean?”

“It means those who are neither men nor women. Castrated men are sekhet, but also children born with strange parts, or those men who have sexual congress with other men, as if they were women, or women who have a strong male nature and prefer to have congress with other women.”

“I see,” said Aziraphale, and something in him stirred strangely at this idea. He hung around Egypt for the next several centuries, until the business with Moses, and he spent a lot of time getting to know the sekhet, especially in Cairo and Memphis, where they were more common, or at least more open, amid the urban throngs than out in the countryside.

It seemed to be a bit of a catch-all term. Some of the sekhet thought of themselves as both male and female, or as neither, while others identified with a gender that they weren’t quite allowed, since they wanted to do things that society didn’t permit that gender.

“I’m _not_ a non-woman because my lover’s also a woman,” groused one at Aziraphale, while she, said lover, and the angel were all fairly drunk at a lovely little bistro—it wasn’t called a bistro, but it filled the same niche—on the seaside just outside of Memphis one evening.

“Yes,” Aziraphale dared reply, “I myself feel, well… I feel as though I’m not really a man just because I fit into things in a mannish way? I’m allowed to be a man, and I don’t want to be a woman. Maybe I am a sekhet too, but that’s not how anybody would categorize me. I don’t know. Perhaps I could be.”

The woman had laughed. “Go let a man love you the right way and you’ll be thought one, if that’s what you want.”

“Oh heavens no, perish the thought,” Aziraphale had replied laughingly, but the thought hadn’t perished.

Perhaps he could be a sekhet rather than a man or a woman. If it was a catch-all, why couldn’t the term catch “angel” too?

He couldn’t bring himself to have sex with some mortal in order to get the societal label, but he began, somewhere in heart of hearts, to think of himself in common with the sekhet, to think of his true earthly role as being both man and woman, even if he was still treated as a man.

That inner conviction stuck with him, but it wasn’t until 33 AD that he did anything further about it.

Watching the crucifixion had been more than a little rough on him, truth be told, so when Crowley extend an offer of wine afterward, Aziraphale nearly pounced on it.

He hadn’t meant to say anything about Crowley’s current appearance, he really hadn’t, but they’d nearly finished off the jar of wine, and he couldn’t help but keep staring at the demon. Crowley had most definitely been presenting as male the last time Aziraphale had seen him, but she quite definitely was not doing so now. She made a very striking woman, even without painting her face or doing much of anything other than letting her hair grow in a long, glorious tumble under the shawl that half-hid it.

Of course she’d had long hair as a man too, and as a sexless demon, for that matter, but Aziraphale found he was entirely fascinated with Crowley as a woman, and once he got sloshed enough to loosen things up a bit he couldn’t help himself.

“I like what you’ve done with your corporeal form,” he said as he handed the jar over. He felt Crowley’s fingers brush his, and that was oddly warm. What was it about the demon? There had been _something_ about Crowley since the very beginning, but Aziraphale couldn’t quite put into words what that something was.

“You’ll make me blush,” said Crowley, batting her eyelashes charmingly at Aziraphale.

“Is there any special reason for it?”

“Nah, just thought I’d give it a spin. Don’t think I’ll settle down with it, but it’s been nice enough.” He gave Aziraphale a rather drunken wink. “Lotta men seem to like it.”

Aziraphale blinked. “I’m sure,” he said primly.

“Not wearing the genitals now, though. I like to hang free, if you know what I mean, and it’s a bit, well, there’s fluids and things, with the lady parts. Going without drawers is a bit more of a to-do.”

Aziraphale blinked more. “I would think doing without…parts would go without saying? What do you need them for?”

“What do you think?” Crowley leered. “I’m not above tempting a man to more than lustful thoughts if he seems tolerable enough.”

“Oh. Well. Oh.” Something in that made Aziraphale’s stomach drop uncomfortably, though he didn’t know why. It wasn’t as if he didn’t already know that Crowley tempted people into such things.

“Anyway I like having a cock. Not as fond of the vag, to be honest. It’s fine to use, but not for everyday wear. Cock’s more my style. Be wearing one now, only it’s a bit not done to mix and match, I gather. Some men certainly get upset about it when they give a grope and don’t get what they’re expecting, that’s for sure. I’ll probably be going back to the male look soon. There’s things about this I like, but it’s not quite me, is it?”

“I suppose not,” murmured Aziraphale, as Crowley rambled on, but his mind was miles away.

He spent the next thirty years thinking about… Well, thinking about a lot of related things, one of which kept being the image of Crowley wearing a female body with with men’s parts, which was bizarrely fascinating. Aziraphale was generally not much interested in genitals, and yet that thought really stuck with him, enough so that when Crowley much later started getting into dressing in drag, Aziraphale always found himself having the strangely flushed thought that he was probably wearing a cock right that moment and wasn’t that _fascinating?_

But over the next thirty years the thing that really struck him was merely the notion that it was an option. An option to wear genitals about, even if one wasn’t using them. An option to have them not “match” one’s overall presentation. An option to mix things up, if one so desired.

If Crowley hadn’t thrown in the bit about it being “not done”, Aziraphale would probably have come to his conclusion much sooner, but even with that idea also planted, he found himself thinking that just because it wasn’t done didn’t mean he couldn’t do it anyway. Lots of things weren’t done and people still did them. “Not done” wasn’t the same as a sin, after all.

So in the mid sixties AD he finally went ahead and, after making sure he had utter and complete privacy, he stripped down and then made the necessary effort to have a vagina on his otherwise quite male-looking body.

Mirrors weren’t so terribly common in the middle east of the first century, so he could only peer down at himself, but though it was odd and, as Crowley had said, rather involved fluids—though thankfully not in any great quantity—he found he liked it. A little secret thing, that nobody else would ever need know about, for he hardly went about tempting people into groping him the way Crowley did. Something that was just his alone, one little piece of the femininity he did rather miss.

He put his clothing back on, layer upon layer, and when he was done he felt more _right_ than he had in ages. He was still a cosmic being crammed into an awkward body of squashy flesh, but now his sekhet nature, the both-neither-either thing that he’d decided encapsulated who he was as an angel, had a little bit of fleshy reality, and it was exactly right in a way his body never had been before.

Aziraphale had to replace it with the other set every once in a while, for he shortly ended up in Rome, and he couldn’t avoid visiting the public baths entirely. But he went less often than he otherwise would, for he simply did not enjoy being naked in public, and liked even less that he had to banish his wonderful little secret in order to do so.

He was happy enough when public bathing went out of fashion, and carried on delightedly all through the middle ages, the Renaissance, and up to the modern day without having to publicly display himself. Indeed, he grew so used to his hidden self that it was just…himself, who he was, the way he was, and he nearly forgot that there was anything unusual about presenting as a man while wearing a vagina.

Down through all that time he found others he considered sekhet too. The word had stopped being used long before he made his own private little feminine effort, but the thing itself seemed to exist in a great many times and places. People who were _other_, who were outside the sanctioned spaces of sex in either sense of the word. In Rome there were the men considered effeminate, who would allow themselves the woman’s role during sex. Aziraphale thought those sorts of categorizations were particularly ridiculous, as if providing pleasure for one’s partner was either somehow lesser or somehow feminine, but that particular category persisted for quite some time all the same, and those men who embraced the role despite the stigma were among the closest he came to having friends among humans in that era.

Some times and places had sanctioned spaces for such people, and Aziraphale always felt warm and comfortable when he visited them.

Yet he was drawn to the other places, to the spaces where his fellow sekhet, whatever word might be used for them, were pushed out and persecuted, to the places where they might need a tiny miracle of a solider failing to see which way someone ran, of something coming up to make a police department cancel a planned raid; of all the little ways he found to help and protect them. Because he was who and what he was, because he couldn’t help but want to do good, but for them especially, for those particular sorts of outcasts, because they were _like him_ in a way no one else could ever be.

Not even Crowley, though sometimes Aziraphale wondered just a little bit, given how often Crowley seemed to take any little excuse to wear women’s clothing.

It was no coincidence that the angel’s bookshop was in Soho. Certainly it had been a genteel neighborhood when he bought the shop, but even then it was the heart of London’s entertainment scene, and entertainers were very often one sort or another of what Aziraphale still privately thought of as “sekhet” but were beginning to be called “queer”.

He managed to make time for those little miracles even in the eleven year run up to the Apocalypse, though he did fewer outside of England than before.

When it was all over, though, and the world was still there, Soho still there, his bookshop still there, and Crowley still there—and still loved, for by that time the angel had finally admitted that he had in fact fallen in love with a demon. When it was over it was time to admit it not only to himself, privately, which he’d done in a thoughtless rush of “Oh God, I love him!” after having his books saved in 1941, but publicly, and to the object of that love.

That had turned out to be easy, shockingly easy, and why hadn’t he done this years, decades, _centuries_ ago? He knew why, but now he wanted to be with Crowley every second, as if to make up for lost time, and perhaps to kiss him or cuddle up to him every second too. 

Kissing had been a revelation. 

He wasn’t very good at it yet, but Crowley was an expert, and he’d indicated that he found kissing Aziraphale pleasant despite him not having the first clue what he was doing. Aziraphale found being kissed to be absolutely wonderful, in a way nothing short of food had ever been for him before.

That, however, then led to the present moment, with Crowley and Aziraphale at a little bar tucked away behind the more respectable shops, one that Aziraphale had chosen specifically because nobody would bat an eye at two men kissing in a booth there, one that he’d miracled police away from in the not that distant past, one where he felt comfortable and at home, for his people, his fellow sekhet, his fellow queer people came here.

They had indeed kissed and cuddled as they ate and drank, but now Crowley’s hand had ended up on the inside of Aziraphale’s thigh and was slowly creeping upwards.

This was a problem. This was quite definitely and distinctly a problem. This was a problem in part because Aziraphale really and truly did _not_ want to stop that hand short of its destination. But when it got there, it was not going to encounter what the hand’s owner was probably expecting, and Aziraphale couldn’t just miracle that into place without also miracling his trousers, as they’d been tailored with things just as he liked them. He loathed miracling his clothing. He also didn’t want to miracle away _himself_, the part of him that was so essential to him. Yet if he didn’t, Crowley was going to touch him any second now and oh dear, oh dear, what should he do about that?

“Angel?” A soft murmur in his ear, and the hand stopped, not removing itself, but no longer sliding up. “Am I going to fast for you?”

Aziraphale drew in a desperate breath. “N-no. Not exactly. Just… Oh dear.”

The hand lifted away.

Aziraphale tried not to whimper. It was all going to go completely pear-shaped somehow, he just _knew_ it. Crowley was the one who’d said what he was doing was “not done.”

_Calm down, Aziraphale,_ he told himself. _Crowley’s also the one who’s done it himself, if the other way around. It’ll be fine._

“Aziraphale?” Crowley pulled back, looking worried. Aziraphale knew him well enough to be certain Crowley was internally chastising himself for doing something wrong.

“Forgive me, my dear. Your touch is perfectly lovely. Only I didn’t want you to get an unexpected shock when you got where you were going.” Aziraphale was aware that his cheeks were hot, and he shifted on the bench, but continued. “I’m not, er, wearing exactly what one might expect.”

Crowley lifted his eyebrows. “Wasn’t expecting to find much of anything, angel. I know you don’t tend to make the effort, as it were.”

Aziraphale cleared his throat. “Well, that’s not quite true, actually…”

Crowley’s eyebrows crept up a little higher. “Angel, I’ve noticed the way your trousers are tailored. You’re not hiding a cock in there.”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale felt vaguely scandalized and rather flattered at the same time. “Staring at someone’s crotch is hardly polite.”

“Ah well, er…” Now Crowley was the one blushing, but he waved a dismissive hand. “Anyway. You’re saying you wear a pussy around, just on the regular? Or did you put one on for me tonight, because if so, I’m flattered.” The eyebrows waggled up and down suggestively, and Aziraphale didn’t know if he wanted to die of embarrassment or of laughter.

“Oh Crowley. You are ridiculous. But no, it’s not just for tonight, it’s been my usual thing for nearly two thousand years now.”

The eyebrows went back up, even higher this time. “Hey now, I’ve seen you in the altogether more recently than that, and that’s not what you had on.”

“Well, you know, I didn’t want to cause a stir, I just switched it out for what people expect, but a, ah, cock has never felt exactly _me_, if you know what I mean.”

“Hmm. Not sure I do, to be honest. Cock suits me pretty well, I’m wearing mine now. Pretty fond of it, though I don’t mind pussy, it has its benefits. But you don’t mean it suits you to use, do you?” 

“No, I’ve never…ah…used it as such.”

“What, _never?_” Crowley looked almost scandalized.

“No, never.”

“But… Why then?”

Aziraphale sighed softly. “It’s hard to explain.” He groped around for a way to get Crowley to understand. “Why do you like drag so much?”

Crowley chuckled. “Isn’t it obvious, angel? This body looks _amazing_ in a dress. And it’s devilishly transgressive. I get to do all my sinful tempting without having to do anything more strenuous than be looked at. It’s ten different kinds of fun, at least. But that can’t be why you have a vag. Nobody’s seeing it, and tempting people to sin is hardly your bag, is it?”

“I should think not,” said Aziraphale, with a token glare at Crowley, who only chuckled again.

“You’re cute, angel. But I still don’t know why…?”

“It’s, well, it feels like me, you see. It feels like… I mean, I’m not actually a man, you know.”

“No more than I am,” said Crowley with a wink and a nod.

“Exactly. It’s a way to feel like I’m myself, properly me, and not somebody else, stuffed into the wrong body. Because I’m not a man and it’s a little bit not-man-ish, and somehow that’s right.”

“Oh. Huh. Never felt like that to me.”

“Your body feels like your own?”

“Oh no, just the opposite. It’s just a thing I’m wearing. I like it, but more the way you like that moldering suit coat you refuse to give up. I’m fond. But I don’t feel any more or less myself in this body than I do being a snake, or a woman, or a cat or whatever else I’ve tried on down the years.”

“Ah. It’s not like that at all for me,” said Aziraphale, shaking his head. “I’m very attached to this body, it’s very _me_. I think that if I hadn’t been so caught up being distressed about the end of the world, I’d have found borrowing Madame Tracy’s much more distressing than I did, really. Though at least I don’t mind a feminine element.” He managed a smile. “I’m glad you don’t find it too strange.”

“Angel, you could go back to being incorporeal, with the eyes and wings and all, and I wouldn’t find it too strange, though admittedly I’d be a bit baffled about what to do next, because right now I want to do this,” and then he leaned in and kissed Aziraphale, soft at first, but swiftly growing deep and passionate. As he kissed his hand landed just where it had been earlier, and started creeping up again, and Aziraphale shivered and moaned into the kiss.

Crowley’s hand kneaded at the very top of his thigh, on the inside, so close that Aziraphale thought he could almost sense the demon’s radiant heat against his pussy, though he probably couldn’t, but it was electrifying all the same. Crowley pulled back from the kiss and said, “Nothing you could do would be strange, but I like your body. It’s just lovely. _This_ is just lovely,” and then he slid his hand up the final tiny bit and gave Aziraphale a good grope.

“Oh!” Aziraphale gasped, feeling a jolt of pleasure shock through him. He’d never been touched there before, and he’d had no idea a mere touch through clothing could be that good.

Crowley’s hand lingered, stroking over him, making him squirm and shiver. “I know you’ve said you’ve never used it,” murmured the demon in his ear, “but it sounds like you might enjoy learning how. I’d be happy to show you some things.”

“You devil,” said Aziraphale, then gasped at another particularly firm press between his legs.

“Obviously. Though you’re the one who pointed out we could make out in the booth here.”

“Make out, not actually… Oh dear.” Aziraphale bit his lower lip. What Crowley’s fingers were doing was making conversation quite difficult. And was making his pants so damp it was starting to soak through his trousers.

“Well, if you really want to give it a spin, we could go back to my place. I’ve got a nice, big bed.”

“Crowley!”

Crowley wiggled his eyebrows again, grinning at Aziraphale, and pulled down his glasses enough to give an outrageous wink, though his hand finally moved from groping and settled back on the table as decorously as if it hadn’t been outright scandalous mere moments ago.

Aziraphale looked at the half-eaten torte in front of him. It really was an inferior torte. He looked at the nearly-finished drink beside it. Then, with a hint of nervousness tightening in his belly, but also quite a lot of eagerness, he tossed back the contents of the glass and said, “I do believe I’m finished here, in that case.”

Crowley drew in a sharp breath, looking startled. For a flash Aziraphale worried that the demon had only been joking, that he shouldn’t have actually accepted the offer, but then Crowley’s expression softened and he smiled. “I think I’m done too, angel. Shall we?”

“Let’s.”

They settled the bill swiftly, Crowley covering it and leaving a tip that shocked the server, and then got into the Bentley to drive across town. Aziraphale could swear that Crowley was driving even more wildly than usual, and couldn’t help but tease, “In a hurry for some reason, my dear?”

Crowley gave him a leer, which mostly made Aziraphale’s heart pound because it meant he had his eyes off the road for a moment, but it also added to the anticipatory warmth that was twining with the nervous tension in his belly. “I’m eager to get home and unwrap something. A nice little surprise, just for me.”

“Oh. Oh my.” Aziraphale found himself eager too, and it would be hard to say which of them was more hasty as they got out of the car when they arrived. Crowley’s flat was high enough that they took the elevator rather than the stairs. Tinny music, some bastardized version of a pop song that hadn’t been that good to begin with, was floating from the speakers overhead, but a snap of Crowley’s fingers silenced it.

Next thing Aziraphale knew he’d been pushed up against the elevator’s side and was being kissed again. He gave back as good as he got, tangling his hands in Crowley’s wonderful hair, before the demon reluctantly stepped back when the elevator arrived.

Fortunately it was only a few steps down the hall to Crowley’s flat, and then they could take up right where they’d left off, though this time Crowley let his fingers slide down to grope at Aziraphale again. That set his body completely on fire, making him squirm where he was pinned up against the door.

It was strange, he thought, half in a daze, that after six thousand years of advancing from insisting they were enemies to admitting they were friends, they’d managed to jump from admitting it was more than friendship to this in only a couple of weeks. But it was so right. All that time, all that _before_ had been preparation for this, for their bodies crushed together, for the damp heat Aziraphale felt between his legs, for the electricity that shocked through him as Crowley pushed a thigh between them, for the lean firmness of Crowley’s flesh beneath his hands as they caressed the demon’s back, for the feel of tongues wrestling as if they were fighting for dominance, but they weren’t, they were both fighting to be closer, to meld further, to taste more of each other.

_More, more, more_ sang through Aziraphale’s entire being, and he felt almost as if perhaps he wanted to be incorporeal, to see if their souls could meld as well, to see if he could taste Crowley’s deepest essence, but for now it was good to simply enjoy this body, and the astonishing way that Crowley made it feel.

Crowley pulled back from the kiss, and Aziraphale had to bite back a whimper, though their bodies were still pressed tight together.

“You have no idea how I want you, angel,” said Crowley breathlessly.

“I might, a bit,” murmured Aziraphale in response, daring to nuzzle down Crowley’s neck, kissing where his open shirt showed the hollow of his collarbone.

“Can I… Can we…” Crowley seemed to be struggling to find coherent words. “Can we, my bedroom?”

“Yes. Yes, of course.”

Crowley had kicked off his shoes and shed his jacket by the time they got there, and Aziraphale swiftly followed his example, taking off his waistcoat as well. He didn’t get a chance to undo his bowtie, though, because Crowley’s fingers were there first, removing it, then unbuttoning his shirt. Aziraphale noticed that they were shaking, and when Crowley had done with the buttons, the angel captured one hand, lifting it to press against his cheek. “Are you nervous, dearest?”

Crowley swallowed, looking at him from inches away. He’d shed his glasses the instant they were in his flat, even as he’d pushed Aziraphale up against the door, so his eyes were visible, wide and gold and lovely. “It’s only that I hardly know what to do. I’ve done…this before. But not like this. Not with _you_.”

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to on my account,” said Aziraphale gently, despite the desperate burning need that ached between his legs.

“I do want to, that’s the problem,” said Crowley with a faint shiver, turning his hand to cup Aziraphale’s cheek. “It’s always been a distant thing, a safe thing. Just doing the job, just seducing to sin, just having a bit of fun. I always liked it, I always liked them, if I was going to go past just tempting to lustful thoughts, but I never really cared before. What if I hurt you? What if… I don’t know. What if?”

Aziraphale turned his head, nuzzling into Crowley’s hand, and kissed his palm. “You won’t. You won’t. You can do anything you like to me and I won’t be harmed, won’t be upset, won’t leave you. I’d never leave you. You can do anything and everything. I want you every possible way, my wonderful love, my dearest demon.”

“Oh, angel.” Crowley shivered, then pulled him forward to kiss him again with sweet passion.

It was brief, though, for Aziraphale couldn’t be content with only kisses now. He pulled back just enough to speak against Crowley’s lips. “My love. What do you want? Tell me what you want. Show me what you want.”

Crowley shivered, his breath hot and fast. “I want to devour you, my angel. I want… I want so much.”

“Yes,” said Aziraphale, and he could feel a pulse of need between his legs again. He stepped back, shrugged the unbuttoned shirt off of his shoulders, then started rapidly undoing his belt. Crowley undid his own, and wiggled out of his absurdly tight jeans, which was a sight to see, and delayed Aziraphale’s own undressing, since he couldn’t help but watch. Giving himself a shake, Aziraphale shed his trousers, and tried not to hesitate or think too hard when he went ahead and pulled his shorts down with them, leaving himself in nothing but his socks.

Crowley was still wearing his boxers but nothing else, with his cock tenting them up in obvious arousal. Aziraphale found himself licking his lips. What would it be like, to have that…within? He dropped down onto the bed, nervousness and desire twisting together. This was all new, and he had no idea what he was doing, but he wanted… Wanted something. Wanted Crowley. Wanted Crowley in him, if he were being completely honest. He ached with it, and as Crowley stepped up to the bed and then knelt beside Aziraphale, something in him sang at the demon’s closeness.

With a kiss, Crowley pressed Aziraphale back into the bed, bending over him, braced on one hand with the fingers of the other stroking Aziraphale’s side, his belly, his thighs.

“You feel so good,” murmured Crowley.

“We haven’t even done anything yet,” said Aziraphale, half enthralled and half confused.

“Just touching your body, feeling your skin, feeling how soft you are… How warm and wonderful and made for touching you are… That’s nearly sex in and of itself, my angel,” said Crowley.

Aziraphale felt himself flush, but it was good, astonishing, amazing. “Oh, Crowley. Oh my wonderful demon.”

“Mmm,” said Crowley, and sat back, looking down at Aziraphale. His eyes raked up and down him, and his cheeks were flushed, high spots of color over those elegant cheekbones. “I really could just devour you,” he murmured. “Yes. Let’s… Here. Lie like this, here.” His hands tugged at Aziraphale, urging him up on the bed, positioning him, until he was lying back against the pile of pillows at the head, propped up enough to give a wonderful view as Crowley settled himself between Aziraphale’s legs and kissed the inside of one knee.

Kissed and then bit, with a press of teeth and a soft murmur of, “Really could just eat you up.”

Aziraphale shivered, his pulse pounding faster, and gripped the sheet beneath him. “Crowley…” There was a whine he hadn’t meant in his voice, a needy sound, and Crowley chuckled softly to hear it.

“Just eat you _out_, maybe,” he said, and started a trail of nips and kisses up the inside of Aziraphale’s thigh. “Mmm.” Crowley let out a low groan of pleasure, teeth scraping against Aziraphale’s skin. “Even if you didn’t have anything up there, I could just do this. You’re so delectable.”

“Oh, Crowley…” It was getting hard for Aziraphale to find words. The heat of Crowley’s mouth moving up his thighs, the scrape of his teeth, the wonderful things he was saying, they were almost overwhelming, pushing coherent thoughts out of his mind, allowing only for sensations, for feelings, for the thrill that made his pussy ache desperately and his blood sing as it pounded through his veins.

Then Crowley arrived at his destination, planting a kiss just over Aziraphale’s lips, sending a shudder through him. He moaned helplessly, spreading his legs even further, trying to open himself up for Crowley.

“You smell better than heaven,” said the demon, his breath washing over Aziraphale, and then his tongue was lapping up the angel’s labia, sweeping over him, right up to the top where it pressed over the swollen nub of Aziraphale’s clit, and just like that he came, wonderfully, unexpectedly, his back arching, gasping out a shocked, “Oh!” of startled bliss.

“I’m glad you approve,” murmured Crowley, and then he licked Aziraphale _again_.

“Oh! Oh my!” The thing that had unexpectedly crashed over Aziraphale hadn’t finished ebbing, and already it was building again, pleasure washing through him, his body shuddering with it as Crowley’s clever, wonderful tongue lapped over his clit again and again and again.

It took only moments for him to come a second time, pressing his head back into the pillows and crying Crowley’s name as the pleasure shook him again. Crowley only made a rather damp humming sound and _kept licking_.

Aziraphale whimpered, his whole body tense and trembling, hands grabbing at the bedcovers as if to hang on somehow. This was too much, too wonderful, too amazing. He was going to fly all to pieces, discorporate, come apart. Crowley’s arms wrapped around his thighs as the demon settled into place, and it felt like that was the only thing tethering Aziraphale to the world.

Crowley’s wonderful tongue pushed him up to another climax, and another, never letting him come all the way down in between. It was amazing, his mind a haze of bodily pleasure greater than he’d ever thought possible, yet eventually it became truly too much, his clit twitching with over-stimulation that became pain as much as pleasure. Part of him wanted more anyway, wanted to try to push through it, but the rest of him wanted something else, wanted Crowley’s pleasure as well as his own, so he managed to gasp out, “Ah, Crowley, s-stop, please!”

The demon instantly lifted his head. His chin was damp and his eyes were unfocused as he peered curiously up at Aziraphale. “Hmm?”

“Getting a bit sensitive there, dearest.”

“Ah.” Crowley looked disappointed. “Well, I hope I was able to show you a bit of how good sex can be?”

Aziraphale blinked down at Crowley. “Yes, very much so. But I didn’t say I was done, my dear. I want more. I want _you_. Please?”

Aziraphale felt ridiculous even as he spoke. Everything seemed so awkward. He still had no idea what he was doing. And yet he did want more, he did want Crowley. His unease faded away, though, as he saw how Crowley’s eyes went wide, the pupils dilating suddenly. The demon sat up, wiping his face clean almost absently. “I see.” He licked his lips again, looking down at Aziraphale. His gaze turned hungry, and he shifted, moving to poise himself above the angel.

“Fuck, angel, if you could see yourself. You’re so wonderful. This body, this form you have… Fuck, it’s beyond amazing.”

Aizraphale felt his cheeks heating as he looked up at Crowley, who now straddled him, sitting atop his thighs. “I, er, don’t think this form is all that close to the human ideal…”

“As if I care about that! It’s my ideal, angel. I mean, I’d make love to you any way you wanted. If you had a cock, I’d be delighted to suck it. If you had any sort of body I’d love it. If you took your heavenly form and manifested all those eyes and wings I’d find a way to wind myself through them, I’d love you that way too. But this… Fuck.” He was panting hard, and he ground his hips down on Aizraphale, his cock pushing between the angel’s thighs. Aziraphale gasped softly, feeling the hot hardness of it. Crowley groaned. “You see, angel? You are so… So everything. These thighs of yours… I could just do this,” he pushed his cock between Aziraphale’s thighs again, “Uhn. Yes. I could just do this forever. You’re so soft, so plush, so perfect. And your pussy… Fuck.” He thrust again, grinding against Aziraphale.

“Oh Crowley.” Aziraphale wrapped his arms around Crowley, letting his hands stroke over the spot where he wings would be if he’d manifested them. “Oh Crowley. You are perfect yourself. Please…”

“Yes. Yes, angel.” Crowley shifted above him, lining his cock up, and Aziraphale went utterly still, holding his breath in anticipation. He felt the head of it, a blazing hot hardness, press against his lips. He spread his legs further, shifting, trying to find just the right angle. Crowley shifted too, and then he was pushing in, his shaft filling Aziraphale, and it was indeed _perfect_. Crowley’s cock filled him as if he were made for it, sinking deep into the depths of him, stretching him around it, and he let out a helpless, gasping, “Yes!” as Crowley sank in to the hilt.

“Angel…” Crowley was breathing hard, and he kissed Aziraphale as he rested within him, their bodies pressed tightly together.

Aziraphale couldn’t even find words for how it felt to have Crowley within him, to be so wonderfully filled by the one he’d loved and longed for all these years. Crowley broke off the kiss and drew his hips back, then sank back down, thrusting in hard and deep. Aziraphale gasped beneath him, his fingers gripping Crowley’s shoulders. “Ah!”

Crowley began to thrust steadily, and Aziraphale clung to him, soon matching his rhythm, lifting his hips to each stroke. There were no thoughts in his head, no words, nothing but the primal feeling of it, the way his body responded to Crowley’s body, the intensely human nature of what they did somehow just right, despite how utterly inhuman they both were.

With a low groan Crowley buried his face against the crook of Aziraphale’s neck, nuzzling there, his breath hot and fast as the pace of his thrusting increased. He too seemed beyond words, but he made soft, low sounds of pleasure as he moved, and every thrust felt amazing.

They came faster and faster, harder and harder, Crowley slamming down into Aziraphale now, but though there was a kind of pain from it, an ache deep within where Crowley’s cock was bottoming out, it was a good pain, a thrilling pain, and Aziraphale only moaned more, crying out with each stroke now. Crowley nipped at the side of his neck, growling soft and low, thrusting with primal abandon, and then with a deep grunt he sank in one more time, and Aziraphale felt his whole body shudder as he came. There was a feeling of slickness deep within as Crowley’s cock twitched and pumped, a strange heat, which made Aziraphale moan, knowing that his pussy was being filled with the demon’s seed. Neither would be fertile, demons didn’t spawn offspring and Aziraphale hadn’t made a womb to go with his vagina, but in that moment it didn’t matter, all that mattered was the primal power of it as Crowley filled him to the brim.

Then it was over, Crowley letting out a long sigh and relaxing atop Aziraphale. Aziraphale couldn’t hold back a sigh of his own. He loosened his grip on Crowley’s shoulders and stroked his hands down the demon’s back, feeling his sweat-slicked skin, reveling in the warm glow that filled him, in the deep, contented feeling of Crowley’s seed and his softening cock still filling him as well.

“Love you, angel,” murmured Crowley, his voice soft, gentle, so unlike his usual affect.

“Oh Crowley. I love you too,” said Aziraphale, dazed with warm, lingering pleasure.

They rested together in silence for a long time after that. Aziraphale wasn’t sure he’d ever felt better. This pleasure went beyond food, for it wasn’t merely bodily satisfaction. It was that, yes, but the physical pleasure blended that with the way he felt about Crowley, to make something greater than the sum of its parts. They’d fit so perfectly together, as if they were made for each other. As if when he’d chosen his pussy, it had been so that Crowley could fill it, even if that had been the furthest thing from his mind at the time. It felt meant to be.

Giving voice to some of that, Aziraphale murmured, “You fit me so beautifully.”

Crowley placed a reverent kiss against the side of Aziraphale’s neck. “Yes. My angel.”

Aziraphale sighed again. “Yours,” he echoed, stroking Crowley’s hair.

The demon lifted himself on his elbows, taking some of his slight weight from Aziraphale. He gazed down, his slitted eyes warm, almost glowing, his expression soft. “How did I ever deserve this?” he said, wonderingly.

“By being who you are,” said Aziraphale, lifting his head to give Crowley a gentle kiss. “Being the one who fits me, who fits into my life, so well.”

Crowley sighed, perhaps sadly, then shifted, moving to lie alongside Aziraphale. Aziraphale shifted too, turning to him, finding ways to fit together like this as well, finally resting with his head tucked under Crowley’s chin and the demon’s long arms wrapped around him.

“It makes me wonder,” said Aziraphale, speaking against Crowley’s chest, not wanting to move, “the way we fit together so perfectly. It makes me wonder if it really was meant to be. If there’s an ineffable plan that lays out everything, if the world really wasn’t supposed to end, if you and I were meant to help stop it, then was this planned as well? Did the Almighty really make us to fit together like this, back in the beginning?”

“Azirphale, my angel… Shut up. The last thing I want to think about right now is the bloody ineffable plan.” It was said with a laugh, and a squeeze of Crowley’s arms around him, and so Aziraphale laughed too and fell silent, simply basking in the warm glow as they rested together.

Aziraphale felt Crowley relax further, his arms becoming a limp weight, his breath deepening, slowly, and he realized that the demon had fallen asleep. Aziraphale let his own eyes close and his body relax further. Everything about this felt so right, from the way Crowley had been so kind to the way they’d fit physically together, and he found himself certain, even if the demon didn’t want to discuss it, that it really was meant to be. Call it ineffable, call it part of the plan, call it fate, or just call it the end point of six thousand years of love, whatever it was, it was just as it should be.

With that thought stealing the last scraps of his worries and fears, Aziraphale let go of everything, and slipped into slumber as well, fitted warmly in the arms of his demon.

**Author's Note:**

> There is an essay of sorts associated with this story, which you can find [on my blog](https://bladespark.dreamwidth.org/1547189.html). Aziraphale in this tale is a bit of a self-insert, but more of a reclamation, an attempt to re-tell my own story using his.
> 
> If you'd like to see me talk about writing, my works in progress, other creative endeavors, and my life in general, check out [my Dreamwidth blog](https://bladespark.dreamwidth.org/) or my [twitter](https://twitter.com/bladespark).


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